Release Day Blast Archive

Kerry Adrienne is back with another novel that’ll keep you up way past your bedtime.

Rocco Lazzaro meets the a new age, yoga instructor Devin in SCULPTOR’S DESIRE, the second novel Kerry Adrienne’s sizzling Gallant Gentlemen’s Guild series, out on August 27th. 2014 from Ellora’s Cave.

Kerry is offering a Release Day Blast contest for a $25 Amazon Gift Card & E-Copies of Sculptor’s Desire & Artists Touch, so be sure to click the Rafflecopter link at the bottom of this post!!

About SCULPTOR’S DESIRE:

Rocco Lazzaro is on a mission to find the perfect male body to sculpt. His inability to find “the one” has affected his creativity and he’s frustrated by his failure. With a Guild charity auction coming up, he’s expected to provide high quality sculptures, but the pieces he creates feel soulless.

When Devin, a yoga instructor, approaches him and offers to help, Rocco can’t quit thinking about the red-hot ginger. Devin’s New Age beliefs push Rocco away—he can’t deal with reality, much less mysticism. No auras and rainbows for Rocco—just stone and chisel and hammer.

But Devin is persistent. He knows he’s supposed to help Rocco find his muse—and he’ll stop at nothing to show him that the line between art and skin is very thin and a true muse can provide inspiration in many ways.

Excerpt:

Rocco clutched the purple fliers and stared out at the busy park from his seat. He’d posted enough of the papers for the day, not that it mattered. He’d never had luck distributing them before—the responses had never lived up to his expectations. He set his backpack on the ground and leaned back against the wooden bench. Why bother? Not like the perfect man was going to walk up, pick up the flier and actually respond. Not in this lifetime.
He lowered the sunglasses over his eyes. The late afternoon sunlight didn’t thread through the full-summer trees in this part of Central Park, but his shades allowed him to “bulge watch” as the throngs of tourists and New Yorkers paid homage at the mosaic shrine to John Lennon. The circular black and white medallion with “Imagine” scripted across its center was a place of reverence. Disciples had outlined the medallion with a peace sign made of fresh-cut flowers, and tourists took turns posing and taking pictures in front of the makeshift altar.
Rocco scanned the visitors. The place was a people-watcher’s dream, and for a Monday, the crowd was huge. Summer in the city always brought the tourists in droves of asinine clothing and hats and noise. Still, he had hope he’d find the one he was looking for.
The man who’d make his dreams come true.
He set the fliers on the bench beside him, then picked up one purple sheet and folded it into a fan, carefully creasing each fold. He tried to breathe out the hot air, but no doubt about it, the June day was steaming. New York was a sweltering change from the Adirondack cabin where he’d spent most of his time in the last month. Still, he was happy to be back in the city—his second home. The cabin was great as a quiet place to work, even though it was small, but its remoteness made it impossible to people-watch and gain inspiration.
Rocco crimped the last crease. His apartment in one of the Guild’s brownstones felt like home away from home. The Guild’s large studio provided the best space he’d ever had to work—tons of light and plenty of quiet. And his guildmates were like brothers, always ready to support each other through any artistic struggle, though he supposed they too were growing tired of his search for a perfect man. No one had actually voiced it, but he felt a distinct difference in the tone of the conversation when he brought the search up in conversation. With the upcoming charity auction in October, most of the artists would be working overtime and even less inclined to listen to his plight.
He fanned himself with the folded flier. Nothing to see at the moment. Not a single possibility in the groups of people gathered in the small courtyard. He scanned the area. The top edge of the Dakota Apartments peeked over the trees and Rocco glanced over the rows of tightly curtained windows. He’d never been inside the lavish building, though he knew several Guild members had been to private parties there. Rocco had been invited many times but had always declined. Wealth and showmanship weren’t his thing. He preferred the simple life where nature set the style, not John Varvatos and Marc Jacobs.
Strawberry Fields was a prime tourist spot. Too bad today’s mob held few specimens worthy of a glance, much less a stare. I’d think the simple math odds would warrant at least a couple prospects. Add in summer shorts, and there should be at least a good bulge or two…
He glanced at the stack of fliers—about fifty of them left. He’d put up as many papers as he could around the park over the last hour. Who was he kidding? After years of searching, he might as well give up on finding the ideal male. He set the fan on the bench and shoved the stack of fliers into the front pocket of his backpack and zipped it up.
He’d held several open calls with no luck. Something inside him pushed him to keep looking, keep trying, no matter how many times he failed. The same something kept him awake at night and tore apart his thoughts during the day. He’d find what he was looking for and he wouldn’t stop until he did, no matter what it took. It didn’t matter if it cost him his friends, his guildmates, his sanity. That was art, wasn’t it?
“May I sit here?”
The soft, lilting voice wove through Rocco’s thoughts and he paused. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat when he saw where the voice originated. Broad shoulders and a flat abdomen encased in a perfectly tight white T-shirt. Tall, but not overly so. Blue jean shorts, snug. Red cropped hair that glistened gold at the tips and fell over in a lock of bangs. Rocco gazed from top to bottom and licked his dry lips.
Red, white, blue, and all American.
“May I?” the man repeated.
“Sure.” Rocco fumbled with his pack and slid over to make room on the wooden park bench, pushing his folded fan behind him and out of the way so the stranger could sit down.
“Thanks,” the man said, dropping onto the bench.
No, thank you. But not so close. The vibrations of the man sitting raced through the wood of the bench into wood between Rocco’s legs. He swallowed hard, pushing back the anxiety. “No problem,” he said, half-whispering. He peeked then gazed down again. Finally, someone worth looking at. Only the man was so freaking near, Rocco felt as if he could feel the heat emanating from the man’s hotness.
Too close. No comfort.
The man scooted back on the bench and stretched out his legs. “Long day. I’m exhausted. Didn’t expect there to still be such a crowd here this time of day.” He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes.
Despite the heat, a shiver raced through Rocco and he eyed the fluid line of the man’s form. If he’d had a sketchpad, he’d do a quick gesture drawing of the long stroke of torso and limbs.
Not knowing what to say, Rocco turned away. A group of noisy teens descended on the mosaic like a swarm of bees, laughing and shouting and taking photos of themselves in stupid poses. Rocco blinked away the distraction and looked back to the man sitting beside him.
Not bad. “Yeah.” Hell, not bad at all. “It’s crowded.” He squeezed his thighs together to control his body’s reaction. Why couldn’t the man have chosen to sit on the other side of the path where Rocco could observe without having to talk?
“Such a loud crowd, at that.” The man opened his eyes and peered at the teen spectacle then shook his head. “They need to relax. Chill. You’d think they’d never been outside before.”
Rocco nodded and followed his gaze. A teen had picked up one of the flowers from the medallion and was tossing it into the air and catching it. “Tourists. New York can’t live with them, or without them.”
“Tourist?” The man asked. “Aren’t you? I can’t place that accent, so I assumed you were. Where are you from?”
“Italy.” Rocco sat up straight, trying to not be obvious in staring at the man’s muscular legs. He must be some kind of athlete. Was this man a candidate or had the hour of staring at subpar specimens clouded Rocco’s judgment? “Well, born in Italy, but I’ve lived in the city for several years. Many, actually. I consider myself a New Yorker now.”
“Ah, so Italian with some city dialect. Not a tourist. What’s your name?”
Rocco flipped his sunglasses up onto his head. “Rocco Lazzaro. Not a tourist.” He forced a smile. Meeting new people in person wasn’t something he was used to doing.
“But very Italian, I see. Nice to meet you, Rocco.” The man held his hand out. “I’m Devin Johansson. Also not a tourist. I live on the East Side.”
Rocco took Devin’s hand in his own and shook it firmly, aware that his own hand was clammy with anxiety. “Good to meet you too, Devin.”
Devin clamped down on Rocco’s fingers and held on. “Oh. You have working hands,” he whispered. He pulled Rocco’s hand closer and rubbed Rocco’s palm with long, soft fingers. “And your aura shows great creativity.” He looked up. “What is it you do?”
The teens moved on down the park path, giggling and talking loudly as they went. Rocco glanced over at them, trying to still the shudder that played along his arm as Devin rubbed his hand. A calm, warm feeling flowed up through his arm and into his chest. Even in the summer heat, the warmth felt good. Too good. Wait, what did he say? What the hell?
“My what? My aura?” Rocco yanked his hand away, immediately aware of the loss of warmth. Great. The first good-looking guy he’d met this week was a fruit loop New-Ager. The city grew all types, but this was one type Rocco tried to avoid. These dopes talked too much and thought too much about weird things instead of reality.
Devin leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He stared up into the trees, smiling. “Yeah, I can tell you are creative by your aura. So, what is it you do?”
Rocco scowled. “I’m a sculptor.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Devin, or why he was even talking to the man in the first place. Am I that desperate? Do I look like a pity case? He straightened his sunglasses on top of his head and smoothed back his hair.
“I knew it.” Devin looked at Rocco, his eyes sparkling. “You work with your hands, I can tell. Your hands hold lots of kindness and feeling and warmth. I knew you were an artist of some kind.”
Rocco made eye contact. He nearly sighed aloud at the deep green in Devin’s gaze. A perfect offset to his red-gold hair and pale skin, which, oddly enough, seemed devoid of the freckles that redheads often sported. If Rocco were a painter, Devin would be a divine palette to experiment with.
“Good g-guess.” Rocco looked away. Something about intense men always caused him to lose his confidence, like maybe the men were peering into the innermost part of him and not running away. Like the fruit loop cast a spell.
“No, it’s really obvious.” Devin chuckled. “If you’re sensitive to reading people, you’re rarely wrong. It happens, but not often.” A look of doubt crossed his face and was gone in an instant.
A warm breeze pushed through the park, sweeping a few dry leaves across the trail in a crackle and rustling Rocco’s hair. He smoothed it down and settled the glasses back on his head.
How am I supposed to respond to that? Rocco fidgeted. Is he trying to get me to ask him something? “Well, okay. It’s obvious I’m an artist.” He had to get the conversation away from himself. Now. Not only was it uncomfortable, but Devin was in his personal space. “So what do you do, Devin? Besides tell people about their auras?” Magician? Fortuneteller? Horse Whisperer? He hoped Devin would notice the skepticism in his tone and lay off the hoodoo talk. Seeing colors around people? He’d heard of it before, sure. It was about as stupid as believing ancient aliens built the pyramids.
If Devin felt made fun of, he didn’t show it. “I’m a yoga instructor and meditation coach,” he said. “I meet clients here in the park and we embrace the movement of the sun and the moon and the seasons of nature. Here’s my card.” He pulled a neat stack of cards out of his shorts pocket and slid one off the top.
Rocco took the dark blue card. Embossed in gold lettering:
Devin Johansson, owner of City Dreams. Yoga, meditation, and spiritual healing—on my schedule or yours.
And quack. Rocco scooted forward on the bench. “Meditation, huh? Like being still for a really long time and breathing and not thinking?” He raised his eyebrows. This was going to be interesting.
“Yeah, I do group meditation classes on the Great Lawn on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at seven. Free. You should join us. We had a great crowd today. Summer sessions are always well attended.”
“Thank you, but I don’t meditate. I sleep. That’s being still enough for me.” Rocco rubbed his palms on his jeans. “I do try and breathe every day though.” He held back a smirk. Something about being uncomfortable made him sarcastic, a smartass. He knew it but just couldn’t help himself. He looked out over the park. Why was he even embarrassed?
A noisy group of tourists wearing matching lime green T-shirts circled the medallion. Their guide spoke loudly about John Lennon and the crowd ooohed and ahhed. One woman sobbed.
Maybe Strawberry Fields wasn’t the best choice today. Too many weirdoes congregating. He should’ve checked the planetary alignment or star charts before he came because something was amiss. He smiled at his own cleverness.
“Well, maybe you should consider trying meditation. Your aura looks pretty blocked.” Devin scooted closer and lowered his voice. “Maybe I can help you find what you’re looking for. If you’ll let me.”
Rocco cleared his throat and stared at the woman crying, unable to look Devin in the eye. Was the fruit loop coming on to him? Rocco certainly wasn’t looking for a quick fuck, though there were plenty of opportunities in Central Park. So he’d heard, anyway. But if he wanted a quickie, the last place he’d pick was a dirty bathroom or out in public behind a butterfly bush just off the path. Being stung in the ass wasn’t worth it.
“Well, think about it,” Devin pushed. “I’d love to help you out. It’s what I do. I don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, but maybe I can help you. Us meeting here today wasn’t by chance.”
The hell it wasn’t. “Thanks. I’ll check out your website later.” When I have nothing else to do.
“Great. Please do.” Devin slid even closer until his leg brushed Rocco’s. “I don’t bite, Rocco. I help people.”
Rocco’s heart thudded and he yanked his leg away. How one man had gotten to him so quickly then left him scattered just as quickly was frightening. He had to get out of the park and back to the safety of what he knew. His work. His privacy. His studio.
The Guild auction was only a few months away and Rocco hadn’t even begun to sculpt his main piece. At this rate, he’d have to work in clay only. He shoved the card into the small front part of his backpack and zipped the pocket closed. “I gotta get back to work. Nice chatting with you, Devin.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around another time.” Devin closed his eyes. “I’m in the park most days for one thing or another. Just call me. I’ll meet you here any time you want. One-on-one assistance, if you prefer.”

Also in the Gallant Gentlemen’s Guildseries: ARTIST’S TOUCH by Kerry Adrienne! On sale for just .99 cents from August 25th – August 31st, 2014.About Kerry Adrienne:

Kerry loves history and spends large amounts of time wondering about people who lived and walked on Earth in the past. She’s a mom to three daughters, six cats, and various small animals, including a panther chameleon.

In addition to writing, she’s a college instructor, artist, costumer, and editor. Her new love is her Mini Cooper Convertible, Sheldon, and they have already gone on many adventures.

“Yasmine Galenorn creates a world I never want to leave” – Sherrilyn Kenyon

Yasmine Galenorn’s Otherworld series is long running, best selling, and has unique, well developed world building. This rich environment has more than one story to tell… and it’s time for a new one to begin.

FLIGHT FROM HELL IS OUT TODAY!!!

FLIGHT FROM HELL is the novella bridge-piece that loosely links Yasmine’s existing Otherworld series with her upcoming Fly By Night series. To help celebrate the release of the novella, Yasmine has a contest happening on her site, and today is the LAST DAY to enter!!! Click HERE for prize details and instructions for entering.

When Carter, half demon, comes to Menolly and her sisters, asking for their help, they think he’s just had a tiff with Shimmer, his blue dragon girlfriend.

But after talking to Alex Radcliffe, the owner of the Fly By Night Magical Investigations Agency where Shimmer works, they suspect that she has been kidnapped by an old enemy of Alex’s.

Now, Alex joins forces with the D’Artigo sisters in a desperate race to find Shimmer before Julian, a powerful vampire from Alex’s past with a grudge to settle, can use the dragon to wreak havoc on Seattle as revenge.

Next summer, in the Fly By Night series, we’ll meet new characters and have new adventures, but each book will have Yasmine’s signature depth and edge. Answering questions about the similarities and differences between the two series, Yasmine recently posted this on her blog:

They ARE both set in the same universe/same city/same time.

The Fly By Night Series is NOT just another venue for the D’Artigo Sisters. The focus will be on Alex and Shimmer—there will be crossover of minor characters, but the two series are definitely their own and Fly By Night belongs to Alex and Shimmer.

The Fly By Night Series will be from Shimmer’s viewpoint, and she and Alex hang out in vastly different circles than the D’Artigo sisters overall.

FLIGHT FROM HELL is an OTHERWORLD novella that introduces Alex and Shimmer to you—here, the characters do interact but the Fly By Night Series will be focused on the Fly By Night world.

Fly By Night is more of a mystery/thriller series. I’ll give you these spoilers:

Alex and Shimmer are not privy to the demonic war going on.

The FBN books will be more standalone. While the characters will evolve, there’s not all that much of an overwhelming series arc.

The FBN gang is a little more humorous, though the series is not really ‘lighter’ than Otherworld.

Click on the FLIGHT FROM HELL cover above to see its info page on Yasmine’s site (with excerpt and playlist). And each of the covers below will take you to their individual pages. Now is a perfect time to get to know the Otherworld series, or catch up where you left off!!

On the Coastal Bend of Texas, a hidden kingdom called Darkmore lies in ruins, and King Sevon Maraté is trapped. Using Sevon as a mouthpiece and a scapegoat, Lord Dominic rules from the shadows. Sevon copes with the unrelenting abuse by dressing in women’s finery and casting an image of graceful nobility. Born of royal verkolai blood and as beautiful as he is lethal, he possesses the ability to part the Veil separating his world from hundreds of others. His gift is his chance to escape, but Dominic refuses to relinquish his tool for power. Dominic forges an ambitious plan to invade the prosperous land of Priagust. Only a select few know the mythic kingdom of shifters exists. Sevon is out of options for his people’s survival, and cooperating with Dominic is his only chance.

On their foray into Priagust, Dominic’s men kidnap and interrogate a shifter named Jack. Even under torture, Jack’s loyalty to his kind never wavers. But as Jack’s knowledge about Darkmore’s king and its history unsettles Sevon, a curious bond begins to form. Despite Sevon’s mistrust, Jack is determined to tame Sevon’s wild heart and perhaps earn his freedom. As invasion looms, Sevon wonders if trusting Jack will lead him into another trap or if he should forget about chasing the sunrise and remain Dominic’s compliant prisoner.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Jack shuddered against the cold bite of his
shackles. The iron cuffs held him upright, and his arms were stretched tight
over his head. Gravity pulled him sloping forward painfully against his bonds.
His umber hair swayed in sweat-slicked strands and clung to his face. The
humidity hung like milky fog visible against the gray stones. He could smell
the herbal traces of algae glazing the walls. No moans, no cries for release,
not even a rattled chain sounded throughout the dungeon. He deduced he was the
only prisoner—or the only one currently living.

It had happened so fast. He was at the shoreline of the lake when
two figures shot from the water. Shrouded in black, the demonic men yanked him
into the lake. Jack had expected his end. But he didn’t expect a dungeon, and
not just any, but Darkmore’s dungeon. He knew it as well as any ghost story. He
had teased Sevon mercilessly for crossing his fingers and turning in a circle
three times as he walked by the entrance.

Jack’s heart softened. Sevon, sweet Sevon. It had been exciting
for Jack when he was a cub to have a special friend outside of Priagust. One
who was not a shifter at all, but something different. He was Jack’s treasure,
and he would guard their memory.

But the men had taken him and tossed him in this dank cell. It had
to be a mistake. Darkmore was Priagust’s sworn protector. King Louis would
never wrongfully imprison a shifter. Jack spit a speck of grit. Was Louis
alive? Did he survive the storm? What of Anna Maria? Surely she’d know.

But Jack wasn’t sure. He had been just a child when he saw Louis
die, and all childhood memories were fallible. He could only hope it was a
misunderstanding. He squinted with the painful pull in his shoulders, and the
realization sank in. This was far more than a mere misunderstanding.

Jack’s pupils flexed into pinpricks when the sound of distant
footsteps announced someone’s approach. He jerked his chin toward the sound to
get the first look at his host.

An ethereal, earthbound spirit drifted into the dungeon. Pale as
Winter Mother’s snow and with a brilliant bloom of golden curls to rival Father
Sun’s rays, the woman captivated him. Dressed in layers of the midnight sky and
coal, her skirts swirled in a trail of goldfish fins behind her. The unusual
ladybird settled at the cell door, tossing a lock of spun gold over her
shoulder. She waited.

“What do they call you?” she coldly demanded.

A peculiar tenor tone in her voice made Jack choke on his breath. A man. The strange, colorful bird was a man.

By the way he glared at Jack as if he were of no consequence, Jack
decided that whatever the case, he had to be on guard. Jack sniffed and
mentally discerned a more masculine scent under the perfumed oils. But there
were two masculine scents, this beautiful man’s and someone else’s. He licked
the salt on his lip and smirked. He had nothing left to lose.

Jack lifted his head, and he panted against the searing pain in
his back. He focused on the curious little meadowlark shrouded in flimsy
frippery. He had never seen such an unusual hue of hair before, but he knew one
thing for certain.

“You’re not the king,” Jack said.

Something came over the strange man as he quirked his thin brow in
irritation. “Yes, I am the king,” he
growled in warning. “Your name, creature.”

Jack evaded the question and changed the subject. “The king of
Darkmore would never show a shifter such hostility,” he spat. “Go, little
meadowlark. Fetch him, now. You are of no concern.”

The supposed king recoiled on his booted heel as if he had been burned.

“Excuse me, you maggot?” he growled and his temper flared.

Jack squinted at him. He looked so much like Anna Maria, as Jack
remembered her. Perhaps her son? Perhaps Sevon? Jack swallowed. He had to keep
it to himself. He had to find out what he was dealing with first, if he
survived that long. He thought of his brother, Kaltag, back in Priagust,
probably wondering where he was and if Jack was still staring over the lake,
waiting for the day Sevon would appear.

Jack’s heart thumped.

“Louis is gone. I am the king now, and you will answer to me. My
sources tell me you’re a spy from the shifter land of Priagust,” he said. The
accusation did not bode well for Jack.

Jack took his stand against his captor. He strained against his
shackles and grinned through the searing pain in his shoulder blades. “Your
sources are clearly mistaken. I was only fishing when your men emerged from the
lake and tried to drown me. Which—” He glanced around, and his shackles
rattled. “This is some level of hell, correct?” Jack watched him, still
puzzling his way through recollections. It wasn’t possible he was Sevon. Why
would Sevon become this? He hissed a laugh and kept up a brave face. Jack
turned his gaze up. He smirked when the king leaned away from the hammered iron
bars of Jack’s cell in disgusted horror. “You are a very fussy bird. You’re no
more than a chick, peeping for nourishment.”

“You will answer my questions, shifter…. Or you will be forced to
answer them.”

“What kind of king do you think you are?” Jack asked. “Do you
understand the scope of what you are doing by holding me like a criminal?”

“Pardon me for not rolling out the red carpet and most lovely
courtesans,” he said sarcastically.

“A little bird that pecks. I like that.” Jack chuckled.

Crossing his willowy arms in irritation, the king nodded to the
stocky dungeon guard.

The guard loped forward on his gnarled legs and slipped the heavy
key in the iron padlock. With a protesting shrill, the bolt popped from its
moorings with a loud echoing clank.
The cell door swung open with an antiquated creak, and colorful bird of a man
slipped into the cell.

Jack’s heart thumped, and his face heated. It was Sevon. His Sevon. He had never been so sure. In
the twenty-two years between then and now, the boy Jack had so longed for no
longer existed. Confusion swirled through him, but Jack had to keep it within.
More parts of the puzzle would fall into place if he just gave it time.

His heart wouldn’t stop racing; all the while he maintained his
arrogant grin.

“I’d curtsey, but as you can see, I’m a little tied up,” Jack
apologized.

This new Sevon cocked his hip in irritation and snorted. “For a
vicious animal, you don’t look like much.”

The term hit Jack hard, but he wouldn’t cower.

“Funny.” Jack chuckled. “For a king, you present yourself quite a
bit like a whore.”

Before he could blink, Sevon was upon him. He yanked Jack by the
scruff of his hair, tilting his neck painfully backward on its stalk to meet
him eye to eye. Jack’s eyes rolled wildly to focus on the glacier blue of
Sevon’s. His scent stabbed into Jack’s nose, jabbing cruelly into his brain.
The delicate floral became an unrelenting assault on his mind and body. The
damning confirmation sank into Jack’s stomach. It was a matter of survival not
to show fascination or fear.

“Listen to me, you worthless shit-eating maggot!” Sevon snarled in
his face. “You don’t get to call me a whore! Do you understand? I will leave
you here to rot in this dank cell until even the rats find you too foul and
putrescent. You will be thankful we don’t outright kill you. You will be appreciative of your accommodations.”

Sevon relaxed his grip and his harsh tone eased. “You will be
eager to answer our questions. You will
make yourself very helpful. Or I will have you skinned alive and your flesh
made into jerky.” Sevon snorted a breath through his nose, and Jack’s hair
fluttered. The beautiful blond man smiled like a content feline. “Now, do we
have an understanding?”

Channeling the bravest parts of himself, and locking away the heartbreak,
Jack laughed with a crooked, toothy grin. If this was the game, then he would
play it until he was the last one standing. Finally, he had sorted the second
male scent, and his thoughts sparked with devious delight. “Did I ruffle your
feathers, meadowlark? Does the man
whose scent you’re slathered in get to ruffle more than your feathers?”

Sevon shoved him away with a wail of disgust. Jack’s head bounced
against his chest, and his manacles creaked at the added pressure. Sevon’s
offended squeal was the only warning as a hard, echoing slap cracked across
Jack’s cheek so forcefully that his vision blew out into whiteness for a
moment.

With several flustered breaths, Sevon sharply pivoted and then
stormed out of the cell. He nodded to the stocky guard. “Have him questioned
about the nature of his people and land. I don’t care how you do it, or to what
ends. Use any means necessary to milk him dry.”

The guard bobbed his head and bowed.

Turning back, Sevon regarded Jack one final time.

Jack noted the confusion mingled with a semblance of fascination.
He forced a smile through his blood-tinged teeth. “See you soon, Your Majesty,”
he purred.

Jack clung to a scrap of hope, and listened to the whispers of
Sevon’s skirts as he left Jack in the darkness.

The rats chittered.

About the Author

Lex Chase once heard Stephen King say in a commercial, “We’re all going to die, I’m just trying to make it a little more interesting.” She knew then she wanted to make the world a little more interesting too.
Weaving tales of cinematic, sweeping adventure and epic love—and depending on how she feels that day—Lex sprinkles in high-speed chases, shower scenes, and more explosions than a Hollywood blockbuster. She loves tales of men who kiss as much as they kick ass. She believes if you’re going to going to march into the depths of hell, it better be beside the one you love.

Lex is a pop culture diva and her DVR is constantly backlogged. She wouldn’t last five minutes without technology in the event of the apocalypse and has nightmares about refusing to leave her cats behind. She is incredibly sentimental, to the point that she gets choked up at holiday commercials. But like the lovers driven to extreme measures to get home for the holidays, Lex believes everyone deserves a happy ending.
Lex also has a knack for sarcasm, never takes herself seriously, and has been nicknamed “The Next Alan Moore” by her friends for all the pain and suffering she inflicts on her characters. She is a Damned Yankee hailing from the frozen backwoods of Maine now residing in the burbs of Northwest Florida, where it could be 80F and she’d still be a popsicle.

She is grateful for and humbled by all the readers. She knows very well she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them and welcomes feedback.

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Whether you’re looking for a romance that makes you laugh, makes you ‘walk the plank’, keeps you guessing, or stars your favorite paranormal, look no further. Select books have the single-title stories you crave, and the longer length you need to really get ‘lost’ in a great book. To find out more about their titles, chat with authors, participate in special events, and to find out what books are coming next, visit the Entangled website, follow them on Twitter, and like their Facebook page.
Today I’m happy to be featuring Select’s July’s releases:

A Lesson in Temptation by Audra North

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Adam Harkness pulled himself out of poverty to become one of the world’s most respected finance professors, but his personal life is non-existent. When he gets roped into a dance class, of all things, he doesn’t expect it to change his life. Julie Stanton’s hard work has paid off with her career, but finding the same happiness in the rest of her life is a challenge. When her former professor, the one she had a crush on in college, shows up at the same dance class, their tango becomes more than a dance; it becomes a lesson in how to love.

When best friends Drea and Joe head to Buenos Aires, a mix-up leaves them in one room…and in one bed. The two friends figure it won’t be a big deal to share a bed for one night—right up until they wake wrapped around each other. They protect their friendship by agreeing that when the vacation’s over, the fling’s over. But Joe discovers Drea might be everything he’s ever wanted. Now all he has to do is convince her that what happens in Buenos Aires doesn’t always have to stay in Buenos Aires.

Surrender to sinful pleasures and forbidden passions with Masters of Seduction, the sizzling new paranormal romance novella series from New York Times and internationally bestselling authors Lara Adrian, Donna Grant, Laura Wright and Alexandra Ivy.

In the realm of the Incubi Masters, pleasure is to die for and love is the deadliest game of all . . .

Available for purchase at

MERCILESS: House of Gravor

by Lara Adrian

Blurb:

Seeking vengeance for the murder of his brother, Incubus Master Devlin Gravori demands justice from the high court of the Nephilim. But fury and retribution are no match for the consuming desire he feels for Nahiri, the beautiful Nephilim warrior he claims as his hostage.

Excerpt

Nahiri
awoke in the middle of a large bed in a strange room.

She
shot upright the instant consciousness dawned, her hands reaching automatically
for her weapons.

They
were gone.

The
leather sheaths that crossed her torso were empty.

No. That meant her nightmare hadn’t
been just a dream. It was reality.

The Incubus in the temple…Devlin
Gravori.

He really had taken her.

Nahiri’s
eyelids snapped open in panic. Sunlight poured in from an open window across
the room, blasting her vision.

Momentarily
blinded, she squinted through her lashes, struggling to take quick stock of her
new surroundings.

And
beneath her, a massive bed. The mattress was as cushiony as a cloud, the cotton
sheets and silken coverlet calling to mind all manner of sins.

All
around her was the scent of intriguingly exotic spices and something even more
enticing.

Him.

She
sensed his presence even before she swung her head in his direction and found
him seated in an upholstered chair beside the bed. No, not seated in it,
exactly. Dominating it. The same way he seemed to dominate every space he
occupied.

His
big body lounged negligently where he sat, his powerful thighs spread, one arm
draped over the side of the chair, the other propping his head up, fist curled
loosely under the square line of his jaw.

He’d
shed his suit jacket at some point, and now wore just his gray tailored pants
and white business shirt. The collar was opened even farther than she recalled,
just one more button loosened, but exposing enough of his tawny skin to make
her mouth water with a sudden, unholy urge to taste him.

She
wanted to dismiss the impulse as one he planted in her mind, but she could tell
from the casual way he regarded her that any curiosity she felt in that moment
was hers alone.

Nahiri
scrambled off the bed. She backed into the farthest corner of the room, eyeing
him warily. “Where am I? Where have you taken me?”

“You’re
at Gravori House.” He cast a nonchalant look around the room. “More
specifically, you’re in my bedroom.”

Even
though she could have guessed as much, her heart still climbed into her throat.
Since she’d gone to the temple to train at eighteen years old, she hadn’t left
the sanctuary grounds even once. Let alone spent so much as a minute in a man’s
bedroom.

She
might be a virgin, but she had never been a wilting little girl. She was a
grown woman. A skilled warrior. She refused to let him intimidate her.

“It
was a bad idea to abduct me from the temple,” she informed him. “The Three will
see you punished for this, Incubus, regardless of what you mean to do to me.
And with or without my weapons, I am still a Blade. I will fight you every step
of the way.”

“The
same way you did in the High Chamber?”

Her
cheeks flamed with heat at the reminder. With humiliation. Her weakness had
shamed her in front of the other Blades, in front of the three priestesses
who’d entrusted her with their lives. With their faith that she was the best,
the strongest, of her peers.

And
this demon had disproved all of that in a moment.

He
would do it again if he wanted to. He could do anything he wanted to her.
Nahiri could see it in the hard glint of his golden eyes.

No,
for all her skill—for all her dedication to the teachings and training of the
temple—Devlin Gravori could destroy her at his whim.

“I’m
not interested in fighting you,” he murmured, as if he could read the troubled
direction of her thoughts.

She
swallowed, watching the way he stared at her from across the room. He didn’t
move, and yet her body trembled as though his hands were already on her, as hot
and roaming as his gaze. All the wicked, deviant things she’d ever heard about
Incubi appetites poured over her in a rush of dread and terrible anticipation.

“In
case you’re worried about it, I’m not interested in raping you either,” he
drawled, the corner of his mouth curling around the sensual growl of his deep,
rumbling voice. “Forcing a woman isn’t the Incubus way. Never been my way, at
any rate.”

Nahiri
hiked up her chin. “No, you’ll just bend my will until I submit. Or make me
your Thrall so you can siphon my life’s energy for your own. Maybe you’ll
manipulate my mind until I beg you to drain me completely. I suppose that would
be more your way.”

He
grunted, dark amusement in his tone. “I have plenty of women more than happy to
slake my needs—all of my needs.”

As
reassurances went, his did little to relieve her. He steepled his hands beneath
his chin, his citrine gaze locked on her. Nahiri could hardly breathe. His dark
energy was gathered about him, pulsating and vivid, but not the way she’d felt
it in the temple.

He
was holding his demonic allure in check now, despite the heat she felt licking
along her limbs and putting a flame to her blood. He intrigued her as much as
he unsettled her.

Heaven
save her, but he tempted her.

Even
as he terrified her, infuriated her…he stirred a dangerous longing in her.

And he knew.

The
way he studied her, he knew she was struggling against an attraction she wanted
desperately to deny.

One
raven brow quirked nearly imperceptibly. “If I wanted to take you as my lover,
Nahiri, or feed from you as my Thrall, I wouldn’t need force or Incubus magic
to do it.”

The
combination of her name on his lips and the terrible truth he spoke made her
heart stumble in her chest. It beat shallowly, accelerating in time with her
breathing.

And
she tried not to notice how his gaze tracked every inch of her body, settling
on her breasts as they rose and fell with each rapid squeeze of her lungs.

He got out of the chair and stood in place for
a long moment. When he finally moved, his steps were measured, unrushed. So
confident, as if doubt was something he never had to trifle with when it came
to women.

Of
course, he’d told her as much, so his arrogance shouldn’t surprise her now.

Nahiri
stood, frozen, as he approached, his thick-muscled thighs carrying him in a
slow prowl across the room. He paused an arm’s length away from her.

“Why
did you bring me here?” she asked, grateful that the tremors of her body hadn’t
found their way into her voice. She could not forget for an instant that she
was dealing with a demon. “What do you want from me?”

His
sensual mouth twisted in contemplation. “I haven’t decided yet. But let me be
clear about one thing, little Blade. You may be pledged to the Three and their
precious temple, but in this House, I am Master. So long as I have you under
this roof, you will obey me. As of now, your well-being, your life—everything—belongs to me.”

She bristled, outrage shooting through her
like fire. She welcomed the anger. It helped eclipse the desire that was still
simmering inside her, unwanted and never to be admitted—especially to this
overbearing heathen of a man.

Devlin
Gravori was mad if he expected her to think of him as anything but her captor.

Her
enemy.

And
he might as well realize that now.

Nahiri
peeled her lips back from her teeth in a furious smile. She squared off against
him, ready to do battle even without the benefit of her weapons. “I would
rather die before I give anything to you. Willingly or by force. I would see
you dead before that day.”

He
scowled as she hissed the words into his face. When he raised his hand, she
thought for certain he would strike her.

Instead,
his broad, warm palm came around the back of her neck. He held her in a firm
grip, and brought his face terrifyingly close to hers.

When
he spoke his voice was raw, as rough as gravel in his throat. “Be careful with
your threats, Nahiri. Those are dangerous words. Particularly when my kin are
already grieving the loss of one brother to your kind today.”

She
stared up into his fierce golden eyes, transfixed by the power she saw there.
By the pain and fury that hardened his handsome features and tightened the lush
line of his mouth.

“On
the other side of this bedroom door, I have a dozen Incubi brothers and cousins
who might be tempted to take your threats against me to heart. They might be
tempted toward other things too. But not so long as you’re under my watch. No
one takes what belongs to me.”

As
he spoke, his gaze drifted to her mouth. It lingered there, and suddenly Nahiri
could hardly swallow for the lack of moisture in her throat. Her lips tingled
under his gaze, aching for contact. Her temples pounded with her heartbeat, a
rising, steady thrum that seemed to echo in the small space between her body
and his.

Everything
female in her was fixed on this man—this dark, deadly demon—and the unholy need
he aroused in her.

“You
will obey me,” he muttered, the command like velvet on her senses when it
should grate like sharp stones. “As of right now, Nahiri the Blade, you belong
to me.”

About the Author

LARA ADRIAN is the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of the Midnight Breed vampire romance series and numerous other titles published independently. With nearly 4 million books in print and digital worldwide, and translations licensed in more than 20 countries, Lara’s books have been called “addictively readable” (Chicago Tribune), “strikingly original” (Booklist) and “a must-read” (Fresh Fiction). She lives in New England with her husband, where she is currently at work on her next novel.

To learn more about Lara’s books and to sign up for her email newsletter, visit www.LaraAdrian.com.

You can find Lara at

SOULLESS: House of Romerac

By Donna Grant

Blurb:

Incubus Master Canaan Romerac is focused solely on revenge against those who betrayed him and put him in the Oubliette for five hundred years. That is until he sets eyes on Rayna. Can the beautiful Nephilim heal Canaan’s wounded soul before it’s too late?

Excerpt

It took less than a day for Canaan to
realize he had to get accustomed to the world much more than he had
comprehended. It had taken a lot for him to walk away from the beautiful Rayna,
but walk away he had.

He
might be a sex demon, but no was no. The next block over he found just the
woman he needed to feed off of and restore some of his strength.

As
usual, people were eager to share useless information, but he did manage to
glean facts he did need. Like the name of the town – Traders Hollow – and that
New York City was five hours away by car.

Canaan
had expected the human race to make advancements, but he hadn’t expected such
bold leaps as the computer, cell phones, and weaponry. Then again, the humans
were rather gifted in killing themselves.

As
the day faded to night, Canaan knew he couldn’t leave Traders Hollow just yet, even though he was more than ready to begin his trail of revenge.

If
the human world had changed so much, what of the Incubi and Nephilim? He needed
to know every detail before he set out for the city. There would be no
mistakes, no oversights. No missteps.

Few
would see him coming.

Fewer
still would know what ended their lives.

But
in the end, he would right the wrong done to him.

About the Author

Donna Grant is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than forty novels and novellas spanning multiple genres of romance.

She was born and raised in Texas but loves to travel. Her adventures have taken her throughout the United States as well as to Jamaica, Mexico, and Scotland. Growing up on the Texas/Louisiana border, Donna’s Cajun side of the family taught her the “spicy” side of life while her Texas roots gave her two-steppin’ and bareback riding.

Her childhood dream was to become a professional ballet dancer and study under the amazing Mikhail Baryshnikov. Though she never got to meet Baryshnikov, she did make it to New York City and performed in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Later, Donna’s love of the romance genre and the constant stories running through her head prompted her to sit down and write her first book. Once that book was completed, there was no turning back.

Donna sold her first book in November 2005 while displaced from Hurricane Rita, a storm that destroyed portions of the Texas Gulf Coast. Since then, Donna has sold novels and novellas to both electronic and print publishers. Her books include several complete series such as Druids Glen, The Shields, Royal Chronicles, Sisters of Magic, Dark Sword, Dark Warriors, and her new series, Dark Kings.

Despite the deadlines and her voracious reading, Donna still manages to keep up with her two young children, four cats, three fish, and one long haired Chihuahua. She’s blessed with a proud, supportive husband who loves to read and travel as much as she does.

You can find Donna at

SHAMELESS: House of Vipera

by Laura Wright

Blurb:

Sexy Incubus Master Scarus Vipera has grown weak, and the only thing that will strengthen him again is Rosamund, the power-rich female of the Harem. But the mysterious Nephilim is determined to leave the Harem untouched, her heart intact.

Excerpt:

Scarus Vipera, Master of the House of Vipera, was growing weaker by the day.He needed sex.Power-rich sex.But not just any female would do. If he was to gain back his strength, he needed one of the Immortal Nephilim of the Harem.He exited his private plane and moved down the steps toward the waiting limousine. The heat of the desert clime invaded his custom gray suit and attacked the skin, muscles and bones beneath. He despised the weakness spreading unchecked inside of him. Despised that it forced him to revisit the place that had, only five years ago, caused him both stunning pleasure and the deepest pain.

Walking out those ancient doors framed in the finest gold, he’d sworn never to return. He would find his pleasure, his power, his repast, elsewhere. He would forget. About the Nephilim who’d birthed his son—his only child—then run away. He’d forget how he’d bonded with the boy.

Watched as his mother nursed him. Oh, he’d been a strong little male. Scarus should’ve seen how the Nephilim was doting on him, how she’d held him all through the night as though she hated to be parted from him. It wasn’t something he’d ever seen before. Normally, if the child was male the Nephilim would be only too happy to be rid of it. But not Daya. She’d taken the boy and run, both of them meeting with an accident just two days later.

The pain that had swarmed Scarus like a thousand angry wasps was both surprising and debilitating. He hadn’t been able to forget, and had lost any good nature that he’d been blessed with. Barking orders at his servants, not attending any celebrations or holidays with his family, refusing to meet with the Masters of the other Houses. He could not care for what was happening outside his palazzo in Ravello. Whether it was how the Sovereign was closing in on the end of his reign and had not been seen in far too long. Or how Devil Gravori believed that the Three were destroying all human/Incubus pregnancies to ensure that the Succubi remained extinct. He only cared about staying alive and strong for his House, and for all of those within it who relied on him.

As he approached the sleek black car, whose doors carried the Vipera House sigil of a coiled serpent, the desert wind whipped around him. To regain his strength he needed the power of the Harem.

About the Author

Unlike many of my peers in the writing world, I wasn’t a writer or a reader until I left high school. During my youth I was into theater, song and dance, commercials and boys. I loved romance surely, but I had never read a romance novel until my late teens. With that said, I remember the day I did like it was a moment ago – my aunt gave me the Jude Deveraux novel, Knight in Shining Armor and I couldn’t put it down until the very last word. Then I went straight to the library and got another – then another until I’d read everything she’d ever written. After that, it was McNaught, Howard, Schone, Kleypas, and the Silhouette line, Desire. I instantly loved those emotional, sexy reads, so much so that I began to carve out ideas for my own stories, themes that were unique to me and moved me. In 1997 I enrolled in UCLA extension writing classes, met my mentor and critique partners and since have never stopped writing. I was committed then and I still am now; the need to tell my own romantic stories a full on obsession. My first manuscript was rejected, and though the second one was as well the editor who’d rejected it wanted to see something else from me. I had something (note to authors; always keep working, even after you’ve sent in a proposal) and sent it right away. The day I got the call telling me Desire wanted to buy Cinderella and the Playboy was the best day of my life. That is until I married my husband, and had my two beautiful children. But I must say, writing is much like motherhood – tough, grueling, surprising, delicious and for me, a dream come true.

If you’re interested…

I was born and raised in Minnesota. It’s where my love of all things green, wet and grown in the ground comes from. As you read above, before writing I was an actor, singer and dancer, specifically a BALLROOM dancer – an instructor and competitor as well. That work took me to many places like New York, Ohio and Wisconsin. I live in Los Angeles now, but I’m always thinking about greener pastures – literally.

You can find Laura at

RUTHLESS: House of Xanthe

By Alexandra Ivy

Blurb:

Jian, Master of the House Xanthe, has devoted his life to returning his family to their former prominence. When he’s offered a contract to hunt down the missing Sovereign, he’s eager to accept. The last thing he expects is to encounter a stunningly beautiful angel who stirs more than his lust.

Excerpt

“I’ll give you full credit for your arrogance,” she mocked,
spreading her wings as the mirage of snakes continued to crawl over her
body. She needed to keep him distracted
until he’d stepped into her trap. “Your
intelligence, however, is obviously deficient.”

His low chuckle wrapped around her like a silken caress,
making her nipples bead with a sharp-edged longing.

Damn. It’d been so
long since she’d been touched in anything but anger.

Too long.

“Trust me, I’m not lacking in anything.”

Muriel felt the soft stroke of fingers down the slope of her
shoulder.

Incubi magic, of course.

It had to be. She
would know if the demon were that close to her.

Still, that didn’t halt the searing lick of anticipation
that spread through her body.

“Then why are you hiding from me?” she rasped.

“I’ve told you,” the aggravating male murmured. “I want answers.”

“Answers to what?”

“Why have you created a gateway into the fortress?”

Her mouth went dry as she continued to back toward the
distant wall.

That was a question she had no intention of answering.

Instead she feigned confusion. “What fortress?”

Without warning a pulse of heat sizzled through the air as
the Incubus abruptly stepped from the shadows.

“You want to play games, sweetheart?”

Muriel hissed, reeling beneath the impact of his beauty.

He was quite simply…magnificent.

Not the ethereal loveliness of male angels. Or the rough aggression of humans.

He was pure male temptation.
A walking, talking invitation to sex.

Against her will, Muriel found her gaze lingering on the
glossy darkness of his hair and the lean, finely sculpted features, before
lowering to the slender, muscled body that made her fingers twitch with the
urge to explore every hard inch.

Her heart raced as her gaze returned to his face, instantly
ensnared by his golden eyes.

Oh heavens, those eyes…

They shimmered with the promise of pleasure beyond her
wildest dreams.

About the Author

I’m not exactly sure when I fell in love with books. Probably on my mother’s knee listening to her read Dr. Seuss to me. I do remember that I was barely old enough to cross the street by myself when I discovered the delights of the local library.

Could anything be more wonderful than spending summer days surrounded by stacks of Nancy Drew mysteries? Over the years I fell in love with Victoria Holt, Jane Austen, Agatha Christie, and J.R.R. Tolkien just to name a few. I read poetry, essays, biographies, and plays. In fact, I read anything I could get my hands on.

Years later (no, I’m not admitting how many) I’m still an avid reader, and my tastes are still as varied as they were in my youth, which I suppose helps to explain why I enjoy writing regency historicals under the name of Deborah Raleigh, as well as my contemporary paranormals as Alexandra Ivy.

For now that is enough to keep me busy, but who knows what the future might hold!

I do have a few other loves in my life besides reading and writing, the most important being my unbelievably patient husband, David, and my two sons, Chance and Alexander. Without their constant support and belief in me, I never could have been able to follow my dreams. They are truly my heroes.

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